Digging to China
by Riyan
Summary: Draco wakes up with a dark haired stranger in his bed... HPDM Slash Harry
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Digging to China

**Author name: **Riyan  
**Category:** Humor  
**Keywords:** Draco Harry Slash  
**Rating: **M  
**Spoilers:** SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OotP, HBP, DH - 19 years later  
**Summary: **Draco wakes up with a dark haired stranger in his bed... HP/DM  
**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.  
**Author notes: **New story! I don't expect it to be terribly long, but it's something. I've got more on the way, including some DH stuff. All terribly exciting. Er. Yes.

...Riyan...

Draco sighed and stretched. Last night had been wild. As usual. He was dimly aware that his legs were entangled with someone else's. He must have brought them home. Not that he could remember now what happened nor who it was. Poor bugger. He really had to stop taking boys home like this when fucked off his face on whatever everyone else was having. It only ever ended in awkwardness. Or tears. Or fights.

He sighed again and ran a hand through his hair. The blue canopy of his bed was bathed in sunshine. He guessed it was probably midday. He groaned. It was a good thing it was Sunday. No work today. Thank God. He was in no state to think.

The legs entwined around his shifted slightly as whoever it is who's lying next to him moved in their sleep. Draco knew it was a man. He ached in all the right places for it to be a man. Plus, he never brought women home these days. He didn't have to pretend anymore. He hadn't had to pretend in almost five years now. Not since his father had died.

He shut his eyes as the memories washed over him. He remembered so well receiving the letter. It had been hardly legible as his mother had scrawled it in such a rush, and then cried all over it. Her proud owl Manuela had delivered it, flying away the moment he had untied the still damp roll of parchment from her leg.

The funeral had been difficult. Narcissa hadn't stopped crying for the entire service. He'd had to read out the eulogy she'd written, along with his own, all the while staring at her tearstained face. He'd wanted to cry, not for his father, but for his mother. He'd wanted to cry so that she would think he cared that his father had died. But he couldn't bring himself to do it. He'd been trained not to cry by the man he was trying to cry over.

But it was over now. He didn't have to remember it if he didn't want to. He didn't have to remember that the only person from Hogwarts to come was one person he would have rather had stayed away. Green eyed twerp. What the fuck had he been doing there? No. He didn't have to remember. All he had to remember now was that he was in his bed, content, after a wild night of blatantly hot sex. It was blatantly hot because he was a part of it.

He really ought to figure out who this person was, but he couldn't bring himself to face it just yet. It would mean looking at an unfamiliar face and then scrambling to unearth some means of finding out a name.

Or he could just stare at the canopy of his four poster until the bloke woke up. But then there would be the whole issue of _Oh fuck I don't know your name_. And that was never good. There was nothing for it. He'd procrastinated long enough that he was now slightly curious to see who it was this weekend.

He turned his head to the side. A shock of black hair met his gaze. Why did they always seem to have black hair? Or at least dark brown.

He sat up in order to get a look at the face, but it was turned away. He scowled and disentangled his legs from his bed mate in order to get up and walk around the bed. As he did so, the man shifted in his sleep, turning his face as he did so.

Draco froze. Fuck. No. It couldn't be. No, no, no, no, no. Not him. Not Harry Fucking Potter! Oh shit, this was bad. Very bad. How the hell was Draco going to explain this to him? "Oh yeah, I get really drunk and take random people home with me. Happens all the time. Terribly sorry. Now will you please bugger off and leave me in peace again?" Um. No.

What had he been thinking? Nothing probably. Hot guy. Yeah, so he happens to be the ex-saviour of the wizarding world… so what? He'll be a good fuck.

Wait a sec. Potter's gay? Wasn't he going out with the smallest Weasley during and after the final battle?

Draco shook his head. That wasn't what he should be concentrating on right now. There were more important things to take care of. Such as not getting castrated when the Boy-Who-Bloody-Lived woke up.

"It was your idea. I just went along with it. Wait, do you remember anything?" No. That was no good. Damn, he wished his brain would work. But it was busy throbbing in pain. God he hated hangovers.

There was nothing for it. Coffee was needed. _Now_. It would help him think. He yawned and stretched before climbing out of his bed.

The floorboards were cold under his feet and he scrambled for a minute under the bed for his slippers before wandering out into the kitchen. It was a mess of shot glasses and empty bottles. Who else had come over? What happened last night? He walked over and set up the coffee machine. As it began to percolate he decided to check his spare rooms to see if any of his unknown guests had stayed the night too.

He walked over to the Purple Room and cautiously opened the door. He shut his eyes quickly, closed the door and leaned heavily against the wall of the corridor. The image he'd seen was still burned on his retina. What was Blaise thinking? At least Potter was respectable, but Seamus? The Irish _slut_ of Hogwarts? There would be words about that.

The Red Room was just as bad, if not worse. Weasley and Granger. Bleugh. But at least they were wearing clothes. Though what had induced him to invite _them _in? He supposed they were with Potter and he'd been polite. A drunk Draco is a friendly Draco. Bugger.

The Yellow Room was okay. Pansy was curled up next to her fiancée, George, a graduate from Rip Van Winkle, the top magic school in America. He had his arm around her and they both looked content. He smiled at them before shutting the door.

He decided to go back to the kitchen to get his coffee before checking the other rooms. As he walked back along the corridor to the kitchen, the door to his room opened and Potter stepped out. Bugger.

"Uh. Hi," Draco said awkwardly, walking up beside him.

"Hi," Harry replied, leaning over to kiss him. Draco froze. Should he let Potter kiss him? Or explain the situation now? Or- Too late.

Don't enjoy it. It's Harry Fucking Potter. Hate it. Try to hate it? Try harder?

It was no use. His resolve shattered as Harry's tongue found a way into his mouth and started to work its magic. Draco pulled away before he started to enjoy it too much.

"Where the hell did you learn to kiss like that, Potter?" he asked. Harry laughed.

"You asked the exact same thing last night," Harry said, grinning.

"I did?"

"Don't you remember?" Harry asked, cocking his head to the side.

"Er… no. I was… er… very drunk. Don't remember a thing." He could have lied about it, but for some reason he didn't feel like it.

"Ah." Harry frowned. Then he grinned. "So why'd you let me kiss you then?" he asked.

This was a good question. Draco didn't actually know the answer himself. "Being polite?" he hazarded.

"Okaaay." Harry frowned again, and then shrugged. "Whatever. You haven't thrown me out, so I guess I should be pleased about that! I mean, since you don't remember last night and all." Draco half smiled. There was nothing to say. He was past the age of kicking people, even Gryffindors, out of his house.

"It's a pity you don't remember though," Harry added after a pause. "It was a damn good night!" He laughed and Draco frowned.

"Of course it was damn good, Potter. I was part of it!" he said. Harry laughed even harder at this.

"Ah, still the arrogant bastard we know and love. Or… well… tolerate." Harry stopped laughing and looked awkward at this point.

"Er… Do you want some coffee?" Draco said.

"Sure." It was awkward and both of them knew it, though neither of them knew where the sudden awkwardness had sprung from. They walked into the kitchen together. The coffee was waiting for them in the pot. It stared at them invitingly. Draco walked over to a cupboard and brought out two mugs. Harry meanwhile had gone to the fridge in search of milk.

"So, last night was good then, Potter?" Draco asked as a way of making conversation.

"Call me Harry. I mean, we have slept together, it's only right that we should be on first names basis." Harry stuck out his tongue. "You called me Harry last night at any rate. You practically screamed it."

"Er, sorry... Harry. So last night was good?" Harry nodded. His mouth was full of one of the biscuits he'd found while looking for the sugar.

"Not the best," he said once he'd swallowed the biscuit. "But pretty damn good." Draco spluttered.

"Not the best? I'm sorry? Who was the best then?"

"Blaise."

"WHAT?" Draco practically yelled. Harry shrugged. "He promised me he'd never-" Harry laughed. "What?"

"We dated for like a _year_, Draco. Where the hell were you?"

"Under a rock?" Harry rolled his eyes.

"It was a while ago, don't worry your pretty little head about it."

"Yeah, but I swear I'm better in bed than him. I was just drunk," Draco protested. He didn't know why this was so important to him, it just was. It was probably because his manhood was at stake. Yes, that was it. It wasn't that he wanted to be the best Harry had ever had. No.

Harry nodded in a noncommittal way.

"I'll prove it to you!" Draco said on an impulse. Harry looked up.

"Eh?"

"I'll... er... prove it to you." Bugger. What had he gotten himself into?

"Alright then, let's go back to bed!" Harry said, a strange gleam in his eyes that Draco had never seen before. It scared him slightly.

"Not right now!" he cried hastily. Harry arched an eyebrow at him. Hey, wasn't that _his _thing? "The mood isn't right. You should come back tonight. I'll do dinner, wine, candlelight, the whole thing." Draco wasn't good at thinking on his feet. He was digging himself further into the hole he was trying to dig his way out of. At this rate, he'd be in China by lunchtime.

"Okay," Harry said, looking at him with a small smirk on his face. The smirk scared Draco. Harry wanted him. Badly. Oh dear. "I look forward to that." Draco smiled nervously. Harry leaned over and before Draco could say anything, he was trapped against the counter, kissing The-Boy-Who-Lived. Damn it. But damn it he's good!

And then just as suddenly as the kissing had started, it stopped.

"What was that for?" Draco asked.

"It was a preview," Harry replied, stealing Draco's signature smirk.

"Of what?"

"Of what you'll get tonight!" The smirk turned into a grin.

"Oh." Draco was now distracted by Harry's smile. He hadn't remembered it being quite so dazzling...


	2. Chapter 2

As usual, I'm very terribly sorry about how incredibly late I am in updating. I feel simply awful, but I've had mock A-Levels, coursework up to my ears, family crises, writer's block, hospital stays, lost luggage (all my work from the past two years! luckily FOUND now), tons of personal scandal (why gossip why?), yearbook responsibilities and the ensuing panics from that, REAL A levels coming up (help!) and Oh! Doctor Who! (that's a bad excuse, but it may produce some more stories!) (Ten and Rose anyone?) (or Ten and the Master!)

But yes, I finally finished this chapter and am working on my other stories. Really I am. I have nothing to do tonight and hope to get them done. If not fingers crossed over the next week.

But onto this story!

...Riyan...

* * *

It was now three in the afternoon and Draco was panicking slightly

The rest of the morning had been spent making awkward conversation with people Draco had not seen in years as Harry left soon after he finished his coffee. Granger and Weasley, or rather, Hermione and Ron, were much nicer than they had been at school. Draco figured that being married had mellowed them. The Weasel had taken on some of Granger's better characteristics, and she had had the stick surgically removed from her arse.

It was now three in the afternoon and Draco was panicking slightly. He had no idea what to cook. Not to mention he had no idea _how_ to cook. And his house elf was on vacation.

The panic suddenly reached near hysterics level, so much so that he could not even read the cookbook in front of him. Not that he understood what "broiling" meant anyway.

In desperation he called Pansy and she came over promptly and started running around his kitchen, making a mess with flour and butter and pots and pans. Draco winced as an egg fell to the ground and smashed.

"Watch what you're doing!" he cried, putting his hands up to his head.

"Don't worry, dear! All will be well," Pansy cried, throwing some salt in the pot that was bubbling on the stove. When did that pot get there? Maybe Pansy _did_ know what she was doing...

There was a bang and a cloud of flour flew into the air.

"Relax!" Pansy called before he could say anything. "It will be _fine_."

"But surely the flour isn't meant to go _everywhere_, is it?" he asked. He felt a bead of sweat drip down his forehead. Since when did he care what state the kitchen was in?

And why? No clue why. It was just Potter after all.

At least it had started as Just Potter. Somewhere in the past few hours however, Just Potter had turned into an object of desire of sorts. Even if the desire was just to show Just Potter just how great of a lover _the _Draco Malfoy was.

And how crap Zabini was in comparison.

Not because Potter was hot or anything. Except that he was. But that wasn't the point. It did not matter that Potter was hot because Draco still hated him. A bit. No matter. It was Just Potter.

He walked away from the kitchen and sat down in the living room. The word _just_ no longer had meaning to him. It was just another word. And there it was again.

He stared blankly at the wall ahead of him, barely taking in its rich, cream colour. He loved that colour; that off white, far too much milk in the coffee colour. It reminded him of Italy and the holidays he had spent there as a boy. He had been happy there. Probably the only time he had been happy as a child. That and when he was at school. With Potter. That beautifu-_annoying_ black haired ange-_cretin_.

Draco gnashed his teeth together. Why was Potter always _there_ in some form or another? He could never get away from him! Not even at his Father's funeral, the one time he would have thought he would have had some solitude from the omnipresent black haired picture of beaut-_evil_ in his mind. No. The prick had showed up to _pay his respects_. Psht, like _he_ cared.

And now Draco was going to have a romantic dinner with him! If only to prove his manhood. Because nothing says manly like candles and wine.

The Fireplace Bell rang, jerking Draco from his reverie. Someone was about to arrive by Floo. His stomach flipped and it was all he could do to stop himself from yelling: Fuck off! You're not meant to be here for another four hours!

But it was only George, Pansy's fianceé again, come to help with the cooking. Draco nodded to him and showed him to the kitchen where he stopped dead and just stared at what had been his kitchen. When the hell did the bomb hit? Why were there cabbage leaves on the ceiling? What the fuck was that red stuff on the counter? Why the? What the?

"PANSY WHAT THE HELL HAVE YOU DONE TO MY KITCHEN?" Draco yelled.

"Just relax dear," Pansy said, not looking up from the garlic clove that she was dicing. "The mess will be gone before Lover Boy gets here."

"He's not Lover Boy! He's Just Potter," Draco said.

"So why are you making so much fuss?" Pansy asked, smiling slightly to herself. Draco, in his agitated state, missed the smile and so didn't demand to know what she knew that he didn't.

"I don't know," Draco said. He looked down at his feet for lack of anything else to do and so that he could avert his gaze from the hell hole that was now his kitchen. He noticed that he was wearing odd socks and frowned slightly.

"Go have a nap," Pansy suggested. "And stop bloody worrying. It will be _fine_. How many times to I have to say it?"

"Many," said Draco, but trudged off in the direction of his room where he spent the next three hours deciding what to wear.

In the end, Pansy came in and decided on a new outfit for him as the one he had chosen "wasn't your colour, darling." He rolled his eyes, but put on the clothes she had laid out for him on the bed. She was right, as usual. It did look better. It brought out the colour of his eyes and played off of his skin tone nicely and did all the other things she told him it would.

"And now I'm leaving," she said. "Before you ask, the kitchen's immaculate and I've set the table for you. All _you_ need to do is choose the wine and light the candles."

"Who said there would be candles?" Draco asked.

"I believe _you_ did." Bugger. She's right. Candles give it a romantic dinner edge, perhaps tinged with pyromania. Perhaps not. He smiled and gave a curt nod. She laughed and left the room. He followed and hugged her goodbye at the fireplace.

True to her word, the kitchen was spotless. The food was keeping warm in the oven and Draco acquainted himself with what he had supposedly made. The entire kitchen was filled with the smell of good cooking. Draco allowed himself a small smile at this. Harry would be impressed. Not that Draco cared. Well, not _much_ anyway.

The Floo-Bell rang for the second time that day and Draco jumped up. He straightened his shirt one last time, sent a last minute '_Incendio'_ at the candles and walked out to the living room. He felt more nervous than he thought he should. He tried to tell himself that it was Just Potter, but then he saw Harry and Just Potter shrunk into insignificance. Does he clean up well or _what?_

"Hi," Draco said, smiling slightly at the vision of attractiveness before him.

"That's it? Just a hi?" Harry asked with a laugh and Draco mumbled something incoherent in reply. Harry took off his coat and looked around for a place to put it. Draco stepped forward quickly and held out his hand to take it. As Harry handed the coat to him, their fingers touched briefly and Draco's stomach squirmed in a strange way. He hurried away to put the coat in the hall closet.

When he returned, Harry was standing where he'd left him, almost as if waiting for something.

"Shall we go to the dining room?" Draco asked, motioning to the door that led there. Harry nodded and followed Draco into the spacious room.

The table was set in cream. There were cream placemats and cream candles placed in the crystal candelabra. It matched the cream colour of the walls and juxtaposed nicely with the mahoganny of the table. Pansy had done a splendid job and Draco made a mental note to thank her the next time he saw her.

"All this for me?" Harry asked. His eyebrows were slightly raised in shock. Draco nodded.

"Well, I figured you were The-Boy-Who-Lived and all," he said, internally cringing at how lame that sounded. Harry laughed.

"I think that's the first time you haven't mocked me for being well... _that_." Draco smiled and looked down at his feet. Part of him was pleased but part of him wanted the floor to swallow him whole.

"Well, I'm not exactly the person you knew at school," Draco said.

"I noticed," Harry said softly. "I think the war changed us all in a way. I sure know I'm different." There was a far away look in Harry's eyes.

"I never thanked you by the way," Draco said. Harry snapped his attention back to the blond. "For saving my life after Crabbe almost killed us in that room."

"Well, I couldn't have just left you there!" Harry exclaimed. "I mean, sure you were trying to kill me, but you were only under orders. And you looked so scared." Draco felt a small blush threaten across his face.

"Well thank you anyway," Draco said. "I only wish there were some way I could make it up to you."

"No need. Your mother did that." Draco gaped.

"What? How?"

"Doesn't matter. It just matters that she did," Harry said. He paused for a moment, not sayin anything. His eyes were seeing things beyond the room again and Draco itched to know what they saw.

"So, what's for dinner then?" Harry asked, snapping out of his reverie. Draco felt disappointed that Harry had changed the subject so abruptly, but did not want to press matters. Instead he motioned for Harry to sit down while he went to get dinner out of the oven.

* * *

Well, I hope you enjoyed that. Sorry again that it's so late! I will try my utmost best to update sooner this time, though it will be rather difficult (impeding A Levels and all that). Also, a review or two would be awesome! :)

...Riyan...


	3. Chapter 3

I know. It's been a while since I've updated this story. But I'm updating ALL THREE of my stories in honour of the overturning of Prop 8.

So here goes!

...Riyan...

* * *

Midway through dinner, there was a ringing sound. Draco jumped and began looking around wildly for the source of the noise. Could Pansy have left a kitchen timer on and forgotten to mention it to him? He frowned as he watched Harry pull a square _something _from his pocket, poke it with a finger and then put it up to the side of his face. When he did that, the ringing sound stopped. Something he had once read in a Muggle Studies book came back to him and he recognized the object as a _telephone_. Though it looked nothing like the pictures in the text book. It was a lot smaller and appeared to have too many buttons. Not to mention it was the wrong shape and was missing a bunch of long thin things that he thought were called wires.

"Andersen," he heard Harry say. "Talk to me."

Draco thought that was an odd opening line. _Obviously_ if this Andersen person were calling Harry, he _wanted_ to talk to him.

"What? Really?" Harry asked. He put down his fork which he had lifted halfway to his mouth. "_Shit_." He glanced over at Draco who quickly busied himself with his food. "Fuck. You can't get Jack to cover for me?"

Draco did not like this conversation from the one side of it he could hear.

"But I don't work Sundays," Harry said into the thing that Draco was pretty sure was a phone. "Delaney knows this. Can't I just come in tomorrow morning?"

Draco's heart sank somewhere near the region of his knees. He really didn't want Harry to leave. They were midway a really interesting discussion about fiction books. It had turned out that he and Harry liked really similar novels. They had been midway through an in depth conversation about _The Secret History_ when the ringing noise had started. He sighed softly, pushing the green beans on his plate.

"Fine," Harry said. "See you shortly." Draco looked up as Harry poked the phone again. "Draco," he said, looking up to meet the blond's gaze. "I'm so sorry. There's been an emergency at work and I have to go."

"Oh," Draco said. His heart slid past his knees and settled into his toes. "That's fine, I completely understand."

"If it weren't an emergency, I wouldn't go," Harry said.

"I understand," Draco said. "Let me get your coat." He stood and pushed his chair under the table before walking to the coat closet and picking out Harry's coat from amongst his own. "What do you do, exactly?" Draco asked as he handed the coat over to the dark haired man.

"I'm a crime scene analyst in New York," Harry said. "Ugh," he said after he put his arms through his sleeves and shouldered the coat on. "I hate the cross Atlantic Floo." Draco didn't say anything. He didn't know what to say.

He had always imagined Harry working in the ministry. He was so sure Harry was an unspeakable or an auror and that he'd just never run into him because they worked different time shifts. But if he was working in New York, it made more sense, now, that Draco hadn't really seen him in years.

"Wait," Draco said as Harry turned towards the fireplace. Harry turned back around to face Draco. "If you work in New York, what were you doing at a club in London last night?"

"I came back to London for my birthday," Harry said. "Which was yesterday."

"Oh. Happy Birthday."

"Thank you," Harry said. "It was." He turned towards the fireplace again, with a small, sad smile.

"Will I see you again?" Draco asked. "I mean, it's not as though I'm likely to bump into you on the street."

"Good point," Harry said. He rummaged in one of his pockets for a moment before pulling out a small rectangular piece of paper. "Here's my card. If you need me, give me a call." Draco's brow furrowed and Harry laughed. "Or owl me. Both work." Draco nodded dumbly. He reached out and took the card. In one swift movement, he also grabbed Harry's arm and pulled him into a hug which Harry returned.

"Good luck with whatever the emergency is," he whispered into Harry's ear before pulling his head back and kissing the other man on the mouth.

"Thanks," Harry said. "I'll see you around." And with that, he grabbed a handful of Floo Powder from the pot by the fire, dropped it into the flames, shouted "35th and Lexington" and stepped into the now green fire.

Draco watched him go, not tearing his eyes away from the fireplace until the flames turned orange again.

He couldn't believe the evening had ended like that. He couldn't believe that Harry lived in _new York_ – that he lived America of all places! Fuck. Draco would never get to see him.

He turned slowly back to the table and walked towards it. He figured he might as well clean up. And go to bed. He _did_ have work in the morning after all. He sighed as he picked up his plate. He was still kind of hungry, even though most of him just felt hollow and disappointed. He put the plate back down on the table and sat down. He picked up his fork and began, slowly, to finish his dinner.

He had to admit that Pansy had done a wonderful job with the cooking. The chicken cordon bleu she had made was delicious, not to mention the garlic green beans and the spaetzle. At least that was what Pansy said the fried noodle things were called spaetzle. Apparently they were a traditional German food.

He had just finished eating when the Floo bell rang again. Draco turned his head slowly, half curious and still have sad, towards the fireplace. A moment later, Harry stepped out of the flames.

"What are you doing here?" Draco asked.. "I thought you had work!"

"I did," Harry said. "But then I wanted to come back, so I used a time turner." Draco nodded as comprehension washed over him. "Can I sit down?" Harry asked. "The trans Atlantic Floo is a bitch." Draco nodded and jumped up to pull Harry's chair out for him. "Thanks."

"No problem," Draco said. "I'm just glad you're back, though I'm afraid I finished eating without you."

"That's alright," Harry said, sinking gratefully into the chair. He picked up his fork and began shoveling food into his mouth. "Mmph," he said through a mouthful of food. "I'm starving." Draco walked back over to his own chair and sat down opposite the brunet.

"So, what was the emergency? Or is it classified information?" Draco asked by way of conversation.

"Well, technically it's classified, but since you probably won't take any interest in it anyway – being as it is a Muggle crime – I suppose I can give you a vague idea of the case."

"Wait," Draco said. "You investigate Muggle crimes? I didn't know the American wizarding population did that."

"They don't," Harry said, taking another bite of food. "I don't work for the wizarding community. I work for Muggles."

"But," Draco said. "Why?"

"Why not? They don't know me by reputation, so I could build my career on my merits as opposed to my name. It was a fresh start for me. And on top of that, it's really interesting." Draco continued to frown at Harry. "What? I get to bring people who have done terrible things to justice." Draco rolled his eyes.

"You always were the hero," he said with a smirk. Harry grinned.

"I guess it's in my nature." He scraped at the last bits of food on his plate. "This was delicious by the way."

"Thanks," Draco said. "I didn't actually make it though. Pansy did." He didn't know _why _he was telling Potter this. He supposed he just wanted to give credit where it was due. That was odd. He'd never really done that in the past. Damn Potter and his goody two shoes-ness. It was rubbing off on him.

"Well, do pass on my compliments," Harry said. He pushed his plate away from him and leaned back in his chair.

"Would you like dessert?" Draco asked. Pansy had made something she called 'fruit pizza' and while it sounded strange, it _looked_ delicious.

"There's dessert?" Harry asked, his eyes lighting up in delight.

"Of course there's dessert, Potter," Draco said. "How could I properly seduce you with just dinner?" He flashed the other man his signature smirk.

"Oh, so you're seducing me, are you?" Harry asked, smiling back. "Here," he said, standing up. "Let me help clear the table." Draco started to protest, but Harry picked up his plate and began to walk in the direction of the kitchen and Draco was forced to follow without further complaint.

"Harry, you really didn't have-" Draco began, but Harry cut him off.

"-So what's for dessert?" the brunet asked. He leaned casually against the counter. His outfit was disheveled from his jaunt at work, but Draco thought he still looked pretty damn good.

"Fruit Pizza."

"What's that?"

"No clue. Pansy made it."

"So, she made the entire meal?"

"Yes, damn it. My cooking skills are not as good as I would like. And my house elf is on holiday."

"You give your house elf vacation time?" Harry asked, sounding genuinely interested.

"Yes," Draco said. "Bongo wouldn't come and work for me unless he got at least three weeks of personal time. Which meant that I had to clean up after last night all on my own after everyone left."

"Oh no," Harry said in mock sympathy. "How terrible for you."

"It really was," Draco agreed, missing Harry's sarcastic tone completely. Harry rolled his eyes. "What?"

"I was kidding when I said it must have been horrible. I do that kind of thing all the time."

"What, manual labour?" Draco asked, his tone full of shock. Harry laughed.

"If you can call it that, then yes, manual labour. Cleaning for myself. Tidying up. Making my own bed-"

"- I make my own bed," Draco said in protest. Harry laughed again.

"Good for you," Harry said with a smile. "Now, how about this dessert then?" Draco nodded and walked over to the fridge. The desert was inside, covered with cling film. It looked like a fruit pie, with circles of different fruit covering the surface, but it was too thin to be a pie. White paste was visible under the fruit and beneath that, what appeared to be a giant cookie. Draco took it out of the fridge and cut two slices.

They carried the plates back out into the dining room and began to eat. Draco was amazed at how something so seemingly simple could taste so delicious. Harry again told Draco to give his compliments to Pansy.

"So what do you do, Draco?" Harry asked after a long silence of appreciative eating.

"I work for the Department of Internal Affairs at the Ministry."

"What does that entail?"

"Any crimes within the country's magical community go through us. Everything from petty thievery to murder."

"That sounds similar to what I do," Harry said. "Except I deal only with the Muggles of New York City. Do you specialize in anything?"

"Well, my subsection of the department focuses mainly on homicides, so it's relatively quiet. It's the boys in robbery who are always swamped with cases."

"I wasn't aware that burglary was so endemic in the wizarding population," Harry said, leaning forward and propping his chin in his hands.

"It wasn't a big thing until a couple of years ago. Some SOB called Mundungus Fletcher appears to be behind this slew of thefts. There's a whole gang of people and he's at the center of it all."

"I know Mundungus!" Harry said. "He was part of the Order of the Phoenix."

"Yes, well, he's turned criminal."

"Well, he always _was_," Harry said. "But you say he now has a gang of thieves?" Draco nodded. "Interesting."

"It's quite irritating," Draco said. "No one feels safe walking around at night. They're all scared that they're going to get mugged." Harry nodded slowly.

"But there haven't been many murders?" he asked, a small smile showing on his face.

"Not many," Draco said. "There are always a few – the same as anywhere – but it's nowhere near as bad as when You-Know-Who was in power."

'Well that's good at the very least," Harry said.

"And what about you? What do you do specifically?" Draco asked. He was completely fascinated by the fact that Harry was in _Muggle_ law enforcement.

"I do blood splatter analysis," Harry said. Draco made a face. "It's not that bad really. I've discovered I can pretty much handle touching or seeing anything as long as I'm wearing a pair of protective gloves."

"Like dragon's hide gloves?" Draco asked. He was confused. Harry laughed.

"No, plastic gloves. They protect your hands from dangerous chemicals and the like." Draco nodded slowly. "But enough talk of work," Harry said with a sigh. "You promised me the best sex I've ever had, and I want to take you up on that offer." He grinned and Draco's stomach turned over. There was no reason to be nervous. It was Just Potter. Yeah right. Just Potter had turned into Lust-after Potter at some point in the night.

But there was nothing to be scared of, just a lot to be excited about. He stood up.

"You are correct," he said. "I did promise this. Let me just clear the table." He reached across and took Harry's plate. Putting it on top of his, he carried them both into the kitchen and into the sink. He turned around to find Harry directly behind him. He smiled, leaned into the brunet and kissed him.

And so the night time activities began.

* * *

And now I have to write the awkward bits. Oh dear. Or I could just let you all imagine it and have them wake up in the morning. We shall see how much you pester me to write. :P

But hopefully this story will get written in the nearish future.

At any rate. Please review. Thanks.

...Riyan...


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